


I don't wanna die

by LaurelSilver



Series: Victimised [7]
Category: Hollywood Undead (Band)
Genre: Gen, Other, Saw - Freeform, Self Harm, Torture, fake death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 10:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15168905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurelSilver/pseuds/LaurelSilver
Summary: "I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die. No, I don't wanna die, so you're gonna have to."Danny, I don't wanna die.With references to one of my favourite movie series. You'll never guess what that is.





	I don't wanna die

**Author's Note:**

> Names are useful;  
> The man/Gold Mask; Danny  
> Victim (Bitch); anyone you want it to be. The only requirements are that they have at least one complete and working leg and arm, and hair long enough to grab. Victim was also written to be selfish and a little mouthy.
> 
> Just to be very clear;  
> 1\. I have not done, nor do I have any intention of doing, anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fiction.  
> 2\. I don't think Danny has done, or has any intention of doing, anything described in this fic.  
> 3\. I do not encourage or condone anything described in this fic. This fic is pure fic. Recreating this fic, or anything similar, is illegal and immoral and very fucked up.  
> 4\. You are not obliged to read, finish reading if you start, or comment/kudos if you finish. There is no story here. It just mindless violence for no real reason.  
> 5\. Victim having any similarities to anyone real or fictional is unintentional.
> 
> Reiterated warnings:  
> Danny gets hurt in this one.  
> Gore warnings continue into the end notes.

Victim sat opposite the man, fingers interlaced with his. His head was hung low, bleach blond hair clumped together with blood, sweat and tears. He was mumbling down to their joined hands, whined vowels and choked consonants.

The screen above them crackled. Gold Mask filled the screen, seeming to watch their every move from the other side. He was stylized into a slim, well-set face and painted gold. A cross sat over his left eye, the eyeholes were black and empty, the side of the lips were quirked up into a smirk. The mismatched speakers set above crackled in time with his heavy breathing. The other man sobbed.

“Congratulations, my friends,” Gold Mask rasped, “You have survived to the final round.”

The man kissed Victim’s hands. The kiss left a red blotch on Victim’s skin. His teeth sat in the dirt somewhere in the corner.

The room they were in was about twenty paces long and wide, with a table bolted to the side opposite the screen. Weapons instruments, some new some rusted, laid in rows over the tabletop. A naked lightbulb buzzed on a chain above them, the door was bolted behind the man. The chairs the pair sat on were metal and fastened to the floor with thick brackets. A chain was looped and padlocked around Victim’s ankle tight enough to block blood flow, snaked through an iron loop in the floor and around the other man’s ankle. The short chain meant only one of them could limp to the table at a time, and they had, taking it in turns to burn and tear themselves under Gold Mask’s gaze. Two wires reached from under the loop and twined into the chain directly against their ankles. Victim could feel the scratchy copper tickling its skin. The man sobbed and kissed Victim’s hands again. The blisters on his forearm seemed to glisten in the light.

“There is a switch above the table,” Gold Mask continued, “I will give you the arrow, and the pointed friend will get up and go to the table. You’re getting good at this. You have learned so well.”

Gold Mask vanished from the screen. His breathing still rasped through the speakers as a red arrow appeared in Gold Mask’s place, pointing to the right. Pointing to Victim.

The man looked up at Victim, still whispering. He was handsome, with a slim, well-set face and brown puppy-eyes. Dense tattoos lined his white skin from the neck down, right to the fingers trembling away from Victim’s hands. He held them over his chest, tucked together over his heart with a long sigh.

The arrow vanished to be replaced by Gold Mask again.

“Well?” he rasped, “We haven’t got all day, friend.”

Victim stood. Pins seemed to stab into its shin and foot with every step.

In the first round, the man poured acid over his arm. “I will not be selfish,” he had to chant as the acid ate through ink and skin and swelled into blisters on his forearm.

In the second round, Victim sprinkled salt over its forearm, laid down shaped ice and pulled it back up. The ice letters S-E-L-F-I-S-H melted and refroze to its skin, and tore as it pulled. The wound was shallow but broad, spanning from Victim’s elbow to its wrist like a cold brand.

In the third round, the man forced pins under his fingernails and pulled them out again. He had to chant “I will put other people before myself,” between every push and pull. Blood had soaked his fingers, making the pins slippery and hard to control. He’d kept stopping to breathe hard through his teeth as Gold Mask goaded him on. It was probably the longest he’d gone without crying since Victim had woken up.

In the fourth, Victim had twisted screws into its collar. Or, at least, it had managed to screw one in, shoving hard and turning slow. Gold Mask had taken the liberty of drawing little dots where he wanted it to screw them in. By the time the first was buried in its skin, it was trembling so hard with pain and effort that the other man had got up, limped to the table, and returned with a drill. Victim had taken it, and with steeled nerves, four presses and several minutes of uncontrolled crying and begging, the screw was in. The man sat opposite, crying in silence with it, hands tucked over his heart.

In the fifth, the man had torn three of his teeth out. Gold Mask had repeated his directions to the pliers four times before the man managed to pick them up and return to the chair. He’d shoved the tool into his mouth before Gold Mask even finished the instruction and tossed the tooth to the floor as Gold Mask just laughed. He was barely able to choke out “I will be selfless,” between rips, words warped like he barely dared move his tongue by his teeth.

Victim getting picked for the next, and apparently final, round, wasn’t much of a surprise.

Victim reached the table and leant on it, shoving a box of nails out of its way to do so. The switch was set into the wall, a chunky lever in a box about the size of Victim’s hand. The word ‘ME’ was etched into the top, ‘YOU’ into the bottom. The lever sat perfectly in the middle. The man sobbed behind Victim.

“If you leave the switch in the middle, the both of you will be left here. No more rounds, to escape if you can,” Gold Mask continued, “How long do you think you can survive? What will you resort to? Is there a secret, easy way out? Do you want to find out?”

The man sobbed.

“If you push the lever up, an electric shock will charge through your wire, killing you within seconds. The other will be left alive.

“If you push the lever down, the other will be shocked and you will live.”

Victim looked back at the man. He raised his hands to his mouth, still clenched together. He looked like he was begging. He sobbed again.

“I will give you five seconds to decide,” Gold Mask said, “Five...”

Victim pushed the lever up.

The man screamed and lunged for Victim. The chain pulled, Victim’s leg followed, and Victim was dragged to the floor.

“How could you!” the man screamed, “You selfish bitch!”

Victim shrank away. The man could barely reach it, falling over himself onto Victim’s legs as he flailed to grab at it.

“One.” Gold Mask’s rasp rang like a death toll.

The man froze. He lifted himself up and collapsed back down with a grunt. His chained leg kicked, then again, then again, then his head shook, shoulders, head, arms. The spasms waved across his body, gaining speed and movement until the man seemed to be glitching in his lap. He shuddered one more time, and fell still, his face buried in Victim’s thighs.

Victim poked the man on the shoulder. No response. Victim shook him. No response. Victim took his shoulder and rolled him off of its legs. He stared up at the cracked ceiling with glassy eyes, blood and drool frothing from his mouth.

Victim dragged itself back to its chair, trembling, Gold Mask stared down at it from the screen, his breath looping from the speakers.

“Let me go!” Victim screamed, “You said you’d let me go!”

Gold Mask stared down at it. His breath looped, in, out, in, out.

“Answer me, you bastard!” Victim made for the screen. The chain pulled, and the man dragged over the floor.

Victim froze. It stared down at the man, laid in surrender on the grimy floor. Blood clung to his shirt from his collar down. A blister had popped, a watery, glue-like substance oozing out. Bloody pins still littered the floor in front of his chair.

Victim collapsed into its chair. It was over, and it was left here to die. It sniffled, choked, and bent double, crying loud into its hands. The speakers popped, and the room felt silent with only the buzzing light and Victim’s sobbing.

“How could you,” Gold Mask said, “You selfish bitch.”

“What?” Victim looked up.

Gold Mask pulled away from the camera. He was a slim, well-built white man with dense tattoos lining his skin. He scrabbled in his bleach blond hair for the strap of his mask.

“How could you,” he said again, his voice much clearer and horribly familiar now, “You selfish bitch.”

The mask dropped. The man grinned back, smirk so much colder than the tear stained face he’s worn in person. He wore black sclera lenses with messily applied black make-up, making his eyes black circles in the grainy screen.

“How **could** you,” he drawled, “You selfish bitch. How could you, you selfish, **selfish** bitch.”

Something clicked. Victim looked down as the man, alive, let go of the padlock fastening the chain to the loop.

Victim threw itself down and pulled on the chain. It was fastened by one loop barely three inches away from its ankle. Its knee was forced flush against its chest, curled up on the floor.

The man sat back up on his chair and pulled a wire out from under his shirt. He leant back and pushed at Victim with his foot. Victim sobbed at him.

The screen glitched. “Greetings, my friends,” Gold Mask rasped. He filled the screen again as the video restarted, “It is my honour to host you today. Today we will learn to be a little stronger, and a little braver, and hopefully a little more selfless...”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” the man yelled.

The screen shut straight to black. The man groaned and shoved his hair out of his face. His foot still rested on Victim’s shoulder.

“I thought I was so fucking clever when I made that,” he said, “Voice-activated video clips. Or sob-activated, I guess. It just gets on my fucking nerves. Seen it too many times now.”

Victim shoved his leg away and continued to cry.

“Oh, please. You flipped the switch.

“You said you’d let me go!”

“No, I said you’d be left alive. But I guess that’s a lie. Like me dying. That was a lie, wasn’t it.” He leant down close to Victim’s face.

“But the wire!”

“Ain’t connected to anything. It was all fake. Buzz!” he twitched his head about, “Buzz-buzz!”

Victim wailed in his face, and he laughed. He stood and walked to the table. He whistled as he let his hand ghost over his instruments. Victim whimpered into its knee and pulled on the chain. It clanked against the padlock. The other end of the chain lay naked, giving the man free roam of the room.

The man raised a weapon. It was a bat the size of his thigh, short and sturdy and hammered through with nails. He swung it a couple of times and turned with a goofy grin.

“This is my favourite bit,” he said, “When I get to finally go off script.”

He was over Victim again in three strides. Victim pulled away, only succeeding in falling flat on his back, bent leg still upright.

The man swung the bat down. It cracked into the side of Victim’s leg. It stuck there, nails buried in deep.

Victim yelped and flinched back up. It flailed, trying to grab at the bat and its leg without skewering itself on the rest of the nails. It ended up just waving its hands around, not daring close them on its leg.

The man gripped the bat and shook it like he was trying to wriggle a handle loose. Victim howled, high pitched and still flailing. The man wrenched it away, spurts of blood following after the opening nails. Victim screamed, finally clamping its hands over its throbbing holes and curling over them protectively.

“We gonna be civil now?” the man said.

Victim whined into its knee.

The man sat back down, bat across his lap. “Better.”

Victim shuddered and took a deep breath. “You tore your fucking teeth out!”

“Fake teeth. Well, no, they’re real teeth. Just slipped ‘em in with a blood pill while I was stood at the table.”

“The acid!”

“Water. Rinsed the top layer of make-up off, and then these,” he pulled one of the blisters straight off the latex, clean, painless, “Are water-reactant rubber. Clever, huh? Friend of mine found it. And got me the teeth.”

“The pins!”

“Those were real,” he waved his fingers in Victim’s face, letting it see a little clump of red dots under each nail, “I can barely feel them anymore.”

Victim snapped its teeth at him, and he gave it a firm slap. He pulled back as Victim cowered against its bloody knee.

“Y’know, you’re the fifth person I’ve brought through here,” he said, “And not a single one of you has passed the last round. There’s only one way to fail, but somehow **all fucking five** of you have managed to fail it.”

“How the fuck did we **fail** it?!” Victim shrieked, “We lived!”

“You were selfish. You flipped the switch up to save yourself. Leave it, flip it down, you can go free. Flip it up, here we are.”

“That’s not what you said!”

“I **lied** , dumb-ass. If I’d told you that, you wouldn’t have had the opportunity to be selfless. That’s what you’re here for.”

The ice burn seemed to tingle in Victim’s arm. “That’s bullshit!”

The man lifted the bat again. Victim pushed itself as far away from him as it could get.

He seized it by the hair and swung the bat down. Victim flailed to cover its soft stomach and delicate ribcage, the bat hitting it on the arm and wrenching away over and over. Skin tore, bones smashed, muscles warped, Victim screaming and pulling until tufts of hair were ripping out of its scalp.

The hitting, twisting and wrenching nails seemed to eat through Victim’s arm and into its side, catching it on the front and back. The man hit around, making his way to Victim’s front, swinging down Victim’s torso to its thighs. Victim’s arms followed like it was trying to catch the bat, its arms splitting open in several places.

The man let go. Victim trembled in its place, not daring to move. Its hair stood upright, blood down its front, its arms broken in several places and bending at sharp angles like a child’s stick figure drawing. Deep wounds bled from its chest and thighs, soaking into its clothes.

The man raised the bat again and brought it down on the side of Victim’s head. Victim grunted and collapsed on its side.

The man dropped the bat and headed back to the table. Victim watched him with fuzzy vision, and reached for the bat. It closed a hand on the handle and pulled, pain flaring up its arm.

A lighter clicked. The man let out a puff of smoke and turned back to Victim.

“I sometimes feel kinda bad for y’all at this point,” he said, wandering back to Victim.

Victim tugged on the bat again. Its head was reeling, its limbs ached with every movement. Blood was pooling around it rapidly. Black fuzzed on the edge of its vision and there was a ringing in its ears like a broken speaker.

“I don’t wanna die,” Victim choked.

The man sat down in the chair and sighed. He almost looked sympathetic. “You didn’t have to die.”

**Author's Note:**

> Saw movies. I like Saw movies. In case that wasn't obvious.
> 
> The ice/salt thing was a real internet challenge that got quite big. The ice would melt and refreeze on the salt, welding to your skin. When you pulled on it it would tear up your skin. Some cases weren't horrendous, warm-ish isce and shitty salt not having much effect. But many cases tore right through the skin, leaving the person scarred for life. This was often done on the forearm or thighs, but the example that gained press attention in the UK was a girl who tore a chunk out of her hand. Don't do it.  
> The pins under the nails is something I've known people do. Don't do it, it can lead to some pretty nasty infections.  
> The 'ME'/'YOU' was refesr to the person who would survive if 'Gold Mask' had been telling the truth.  
> Sclera lenses are large lenses that cover your whole eye. Usually worn in plain black or plain white for that creepy dead look.  
> Water-activated rubber does exist, but its usually used for sealing joints and tiles, not make-up. Hush.  
> The ending kinda popped up when I was re-listening to I Don't Wanna Die and on the last "You didn't have to die" I got the vivid image of Danny sitting in the chair, covered in blood, sighing smoke. It's a good image.  
> I considered writing a second chapter with a second victim who flipped the switch down, just to write how Danny would react but I felt like that wouldn't work quite as well as this does.
> 
> The 'voice-activated' video has a few triggers, so just in case it wasn't clear:  
> Sob = move on to the next section of the main script  
> Sigh = play a 'hurry up' clip  
> Hiss = play a 'goad' clip  
> "Shut the fuck up" = stop playing  
> "What are you doing" (not mentioned here) = repeat previous clip
> 
> The teeth (and rubber) came from Jorel (J-dog).  
> The bat came from Dylan (Funny Man). It originally had barbed wire as well, but that fell off.  
> The chairs came from Matty (Da Kurlzz) with a little help from Johnny (3 Tears). More on that in another fic. Probably. I'm working on it.
> 
> Go watch a movie. Disney, Pixar, Monster High, a musical, Barbie. Something nice and sweet. That'll cheer you up.


End file.
